LOS ANGELES, CA–

So, I’ve been working pretty hard lately. And by working hard, I mean that I’ve been working really hard, for long hours (12 or so of them every single day) for about the last two years. As a reader of this little article, you might wonder what I’ve been working at for all of these hours, but that’s not important. What is important is that at this point, the only thing that really punctuates my working of really long hours is the drinking of highball glasses of Jim Beam, which helps me work more but alas (according to all of the addiction recovery books I seem to be reading lately) doesn’t really relax me. At least not in the way a good vacation would. A good, sober vacation. And what better place to get away from it all (or at least the burning, wood-fired Tandoori oven that is LA right now) than Palm Springs, California, just two hours away!

At first this seems like a great idea, right? A relaxing desert, a pool, room service… All awesome things. However…

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LEXINGTON, KY-

So why is it that the holidays always feel apocalyptic? It can’t just be those grand fictional memories–you know, like what happened to Kate’s dad in Gremlins (”That’s when I noticed the smell.”). I firmly believe the Mad Max people missed an opportunity for some holiday crossover action (put that in your four quadrants and smoke it).

No, there’s something particularly bomb shelter in nature about the holidays’ particular brand of forced jollity and surprise, the frequent return to the too-close quarters of a car or plane, the silent desire of everyone to be somewhere else even if it’s only asleep. The neverending parade of desserts like a demented dream plucked from some underweight starlet’s head. The unceasing DREAD. Come on, this can’t be just me, can it?

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